


Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

by black_lodge



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Gary has hidden talents, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 08:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13314090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_lodge/pseuds/black_lodge
Summary: “Gary, I didn’t know you could dance!”Shortly before the beginning of s1, at the Inaugural Ball, Gary swoops in to get Selina out of a sticky situation.





	Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

How in fuck’s name did Andrew get an invite to the Inaugural Ball -- she’ll never know. But he’s here, and she’s stuck dancing with him, increasingly agitated and desperate to get away from his lanky back-stabbing ass when someone cuts in.

She’s never been so fucking happy to see Gary in her life. Andrew can’t object unless he wants to draw even more attention to their tete-a-tete. She hopes some photog hack manages to get a snap of the scowl on his face as he transfers her to Gary’s arms. She’d pay good money to see that photo.

Gary whisks her away, looking like a very tall and shockingly graceful penguin in his tails and -- were those actual  _ spats? _

“Thank fuck you came when you did,” she says, oblivious to the fact that Gary had been monitoring the situation from the perimeter of the room. “I was about to give the Grim Creeper a tax-free ball-busting. Can you  _ believe  _ him?”

“Ohh, I know,” Gary sighs sympathetically.

“He has the gall to touch me --  _ touch  _ me, Gary -- after what he did….”

She glances up at Gary and realizes suddenly where she is. In Gary’s arms, with Gary’s right hand warming the bare skin of her back, and Gary’s other hand held out like a branch on which her fingers clamp instead of alighting like a bird. She loosens her grip and some of the tension leaves his forearm. 

It would be creepy in a completely new way except that Gary isn’t cringing, or stumbling, or flailing, or stammering. She never knew he was capable of good posture, but his spine is straight, his head is up, and she can even see the angle of his jaw as he directs his face to his left. He’s describing beautiful arcs over the dance floor and guiding her with the barest pressure of his hands so she’s floating with him rather than being pushed or pulled or otherwise jerked around.

His cheeks are starting to turn the slightest bit pink and she realizes she’s staring. She splits into a grin -- a real one.

“Gary, I didn’t know you could  _ dance! _ ”

Gary bobs his head, bird-like, and his second chin makes a reappearance along with his self-consciousness. “I took ballroom dance lessons for eight years, ma’am,” he says, softly turning on the ball of his foot and taking her with him.

“It took you that long to learn?” she asks.

He blushes a bit. “Yes ma’am -- I mean, no ma’am, I also learned --”

“But this is pretty impressive, for a boy from Alabama,” says the new Vice President of the United States. “I didn’t think people in Alabama knew how to ballroom dance. Don’t they do hoedowns, barn dancing, that kind of thing?”

“Oh yes, plus the Contra dance, the Virginia Reel, square dancing --”

“And they’re all done in barns?”

He blinks upward rapidly and she gets the impression he would shrug noncommittally, except he’s keeping his shoulder blades down and his elbows up. “Well, our club always met at the White City Community Center,” he says.

“And somehow you learned the waltz.”

“And the foxtrot, the hustle, the merengue, west coast swing, and the tango.”

Selina blinks and snorts to mask her surprise and her confusion -- she’s not sure she could tell merengue from meringue. “Gary Walsh dancing a tango. Now that’s a thought.”

“I was never very good at it, ma’am.”

“I’ll believe it,” she says. But she’s not sure. A space has formed around the two of them and people are  _ watching.  _ In  _ admiration.  _ It makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up. President Fucking Hughs and his bimbo of a wife are watching with unequivocal smiles.

“Gary, everybody’s watching,” she hisses.

“Yeah, because you’re gorgeous,” he whispers emphatically, and she gets a warm little flutter in her stomach. “You’re Vice President of the United States and you  _ slay  _ in Dior, queen.”

“Damn straight I do,” she grins, ever susceptible to flattery.

“Oh, band’s about to finish. Want to end with a dip?” he asks, and she could swear he’s almost  _ giddy.  _ “That’ll really blow ‘em away.”

“Uh, sure, if you say so.”

“All right!” He’s literally pink with excitement. “I’m gonna dip you and as I do just extend your left leg along my right, okay?”

“Gary, I don’t know if…”

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, just follow my lead,  _ one _ two three,  _ two _ two three,  _ three _ \-- two -- aaaand  _ diiiiiiip.”  _

Urged by gentle pressure from his leading hand, she’s tipping backward into the cradle of his right arm. “Tighten your core, don’t be a limp noodle -- bend your right knee, left your chin and smile smile smile, and streeeeetch out that left foot, yes, just like that --”

He’s murmuring under his breath like he always does, feeding her lines, except he doesn’t miss a beat here and neither, for once, does she. His hand is spread firm against her shoulder blades, and despite the distance between them she feels secure. His right leg slides back and her left follows and somehow, perhaps due to the height difference, his left knee slides between her legs and she finds herself pressed against a surprisingly firm thigh.

He sounds as breathless as she feels when he sighs, “Oh, looky-lou, ma’am, that’s  _ perfect,  _ you’re just  _ perfect!” _

She’s aware of applause around them. After a long moment suspended in his arms, she gives him a subtle pat on the shoulder and he responds by bringing her out of the dip. She’s swarmed by people suddenly and back with the winningest of grins, and as she takes a deep breath and prepares to leap headfirst into congratulations and commiseration, she almost doesn’t feel Gary’s hand smooth down her back, brushing away invisible imperfections before the crowd separates them and swallows him up.

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe there isn't more fic for these two. The Internet has really let me down, here.  
> Title is from the John Mayer song. (Please forgive me.)


End file.
